


Here in California

by mattygroves



Series: Here in California 'Verse [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, M/M, Rodney McKay-Fashion Victim, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 10:52:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7265137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattygroves/pseuds/mattygroves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John inherits a house and Rodney lives next door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here in California

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the song of that name by Kate Wolf--it's a lovely song :)

When John inherited his great aunt’s tiny craftsman in Livermore, California seemed like a good idea after Antarctica. It was spring when he got there, all green and mild with a gentle sunshine that filled the dark house as he pulled up every blind and opened every window. He liked the tiny Main Street with its quirky coffee shop that had a completely incomprehensible menu (he ordered plain coffee every time, just to be safe, but he was pretty sure the teenagers behind the counter were judging him). He liked the wide flat streets for cruising to the grocery store on his skateboard.

The house itself had been redecorated in the seventies with puce shag carpet and matching orange floral wallpaper. John immediately set about stripping the walls and pulling up the carpet to see what he’d find there. Fortunately, under the carpet was a wide-planked hickory wood floor. It would need to be refinished, but it was in pretty decent shape. He thought about stripping the paneling down to its natural glory, but some exploratory sanding revealed layers of paint in disparate colors, including a blinding cobalt. He settled on white to keep the interior bright, and had the girl at the hardware store help him pick out a soft blue-green for the walls that reminded him of summers on Cape Cod, his bare feet running through the fine sand into the welcoming sea.

He knew the water was colder here—he would probably buy a wetsuit in the fall. But he bought a surfboard, a comfy dark grey couch, a flat screen TV, and an X-Box, and it was starting to feel like home. He even had a front porch to sit on and bug his neighbor.

“Hey, Rodney,” he said across the yard, “How’s it going?”

Rodney McKay didn’t look up from where he was furiously typing on a laptop perched on his knees. But he grunted, which was kind of a greeting. Rodney’s house was a one-bedroom rental and a little the worse for wear. He worked at Livermore Labs, and when John had asked for more detail about what the astrophysicist did, he got a short “Deep space telemetry,” in reply.

“Wanna beer, Rodney?” That got his attention. 

Rodney grumbled, but he saved what he was working on and shut his computer and crossed the small yard to sit on John’s other Adirondack chair, accepting the cold beer with what John assumed was a grunt of thanks. They sat in companionable silence.

“You never did tell me what brought you here,” John said conversationally.

“Punishment,” was Rodney’s terse reply.

They settled into a friendship that might have been borne of ease and proximity. But John seemed to be seeking Rodney out, which he didn’t understand.

“Can I sit here?” John asked at the coffee shop. Rodney glanced at him over his laptop and nodded, a little wary.

John sat down with his coffee—decaf—and a fat, battered copy of War and Peace, and stayed for three hours, until the teenagers started to sweep the floor and put empty chairs up on tables. 

“They’re closing, Rodney,” John said. Rodney looked startled, like he had forgotten John was there. They walked home together.

John would mock Rodney’s workaholic tendencies and general nerdiness (though he was fooling no one with all the Star Trek movies among his DVD collection), and Rodney mocked John’s morning runs, green smoothies, and decaf coffee. After a few weeks, it became the usual to have Rodney sitting on John’s porch in the mornings with a full pot of coffee and his laptop when John returned from running. John would make tea and they’d sit until Rodney would remember he actually had to go to work and rushed off.

“I have to go to Colorado for a few days,” Rodney said one day, “Could you, er, watch my cat?”

“No problem, Rodney,” John said. 

By the time Rodney returned, the cat had decided John’s house was just as much her territory as Rodney’s, which John, not usually a cat person, was surprised to realize he didn’t mind. 

“You’re not wearing that to your company picnic,” John said firmly when Rodney came out of his house in old khakis and a dingy “I’m with Genius” t-shirt.

Rodney started to protest, but John just said, “Something with buttons and a collar, tucked in.”

Rodney muttered under his breath, but he went back inside.

“With a belt!” John called after him.

Rodney reemerged in a light blue short sleeve button-down tucked into less wrinkly khakis. And a belt.

“Your shirt’s not tucked in,” he said mutinously.

“I’m cooler than you are,” John said matter-of-factly.

Rodney really couldn’t argue as he surveyed John’s lightweight white button down over faded blue chinos (the kind that are faded on purpose) and his worn-in deck shoes. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. He must of gotten sun on his run this morning, because his cheeks and ears were tinged pink.

The company picnic was held at a winery down the street on a big lawn surrounded by vineyards and an old Victorian house. There was a bounce house for the kids, who were screaming and running around, high on cotton candy and bubbles. Rodney grabbed John’s elbow and directed him toward the wine with unerring accuracy, selecting glasses of rosé for both of them. John grinned, taking the glass Rodney offered. Rodney surveyed the party grimly.

John lost him for awhile when Rodney went to check on which foods contained substances actively trying to end his life, but John knew the head of Livermore Labs security from the gym and didn’t mind talking to Laura Cadman. She had lots of stories about crazy scientists that John found hilarious. She seemed to really enjoy telling him all the embarrassing things Rodney got up to at work.

Then Rodney was at his elbow again, pulling him away. John just gave Laura an apologetic shrug as she laughed and turned to her deputy, Evan something.

When Rodney had succeeded in dragging him through an archway and into the vineyard, he turned to John, still holding his bicep.

“People think we’re dating,” Rodney hissed.

John didn’t know what to say to that, but his expression must have said something.

“You knew?” Rodney said.

“You invited me to your company picnic, Rodney. I’m gay. What did you think people would think?”

“I guess I didn’t really consider it,” he said, using that superior tone he adopted when he didn’t know what he was doing, “And some of those people were really judgy. Did you know there’re conservative religious scientists?”

“We’re in a small town, there’s conservative religious everythings.”

“You’re gay?” Rodney said, circling back.

“I haven’t exactly been hiding it, Rodney.”

“I thought you just really liked Men’s Fitness magazine.”

John raised an eyebrow and nodded.

“Huh,” Rodney said, considering, “So we could’ve been? We can?”

“Yeah,” John said, and Rodney pulled him into a kiss, hot and wet.

“This party sucks,” Rodney said breathlessly, “Let’s get out of here.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Kudos and comments bring the author life, much like blood to a space vampire.


End file.
